


The Best Friend Tag

by alovewithnodoubt



Category: Connor Franta - Fandom, tronnor - Fandom, troye sivan - Fandom
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovewithnodoubt/pseuds/alovewithnodoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Troye film their first collaboration together; the best friend tag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Friend Tag

Troye sat up from the warm bed, its thick, pillowy sheets bundling around his bare waist. Cold air coiled around his naked figure like a pirouette and clung tight to his skin. The small boy shivered in response and tugged the sheets up towards his chest for warmth. He became lucid of his sleepy state and wondered why he woke up in the first place.

 

Just as he begun to set his head on the pillow, a frustrated groan sounded outside of his door. Troye whined in response, wanting so badly to fall back into a slumber. After a while, he kicked off the sheets and tugged on a oversized t-shirt found on the floor. He let out a long, soundless yawn as he wandered through the dark hallway, occasionally bumping into a wall.

 

Finally, he reached the kitchen, where a drunken lump lay unconscious on the tiles — Connor. 

 

He was a mess. A pool of vomit spilled over his chin and smeared across the side of his cheek. His body was completely splayed out across the floor in such a careless manner that would make anyone think it wasn’t actually him.

 

With a sigh, Troye trailed back to the hallway to retrieve fresh towels from the bathroom. He returned with three neatly rolled, lavender-scented ones with no intricate patterns or designs adorning the fabric. A small frown formed at the sight of several empty bottles scattered across the living room carpet.

 

Troye kneeled over his friend covered in his own regurgitations and started to wipe up the mess on his neck in slow, steady motions. His hands shook and the mélange of alcohol and puke infiltrated his nostrils. But even with that, only one thought remained in his mind.

 

_What happened?_

 

Connor barely got drunk. In fact the only times Troye had seen him intoxicated was on his birthday and parties in last year’s trip to Italy. But never, _never_ had he gotten so wasted he’d passed out. It’s just not something Connor would do.

 

Troye’s eyebrows knitted together without him realizing it, his old habit of chewing his top lip resurfaced. He was so entranced by his own thoughts that he’d cleaned up all of the vomit except Connor’s face. He started caressing his cheek with an untouched part of the towel, forgetting about the task of actually cleaning the area.

 

He quickly got more and more distracted with each stroke. His eyes started traveling down Connor’s worn out face, starting from his cheek to his chin. He looked an inch higher and met his two parted lips and realized that the older boy was snoring ever so faintly. The younger smiled down at him, letting seconds and minutes pass by.

 

After a while of simply taking in every detail of his limp friend, he noticed something he should’ve realized sooner.

 

Connor was looking right back up at him.

 

They both gasped in response which lead to Connor’s uncontrollable giggle to erupt out of his foul-smelling mouth. Troye tilted his head to the side in confusion before remembering that the boy below him was inebriated.

 

Troye let out another sigh. 

 

“Connor,” he murmured.

 

“Troye,” Connor hummed, droning out the name stuck on his lips, “now I know why your M-m-mother put an _e_ at the end of your name.”

 

He snickered and resumed a delightful giggle.

 

_I’ve forgotten he was a happy drunk,_ Troye thought to himself.

 

“C’mon, Con, let’s get your face washed up.”

 

Troye reached his hands underneath either sides of Connor’s waist and hoisted him up into a sitting position. He repositioned his arms underneath Connor’s back and legs but a fist tightened around Troye’s bicep before continuing his actions.

 

“Troye, I’m not,” -loud burp- “drunk.”

 

The younger boy rolls his eyes in disbelief.

 

“Oh, give it up, Connor,” Troye grinned faintly, “I saw those bottles of beer on the-“

 

“Nah,” the other protested, “I only drank a half of a bottle. The other ones you saw were all just soda.”

 

Troye tilted his head up towards the ceiling and groaned loudly.

 

“Then why the _hell_ did I find you unconscious on your kitchen floor at 3 a.m. with your  _upchucked chunks of hurl_ all over your face?” Troye wails.

 

Connor bites back a laugh reminiscing over wild memories of the past two hours. “Well, I was going to film a video-“

 

“In the middle of the night?” Troye interrupts.

 

Connor scowls at his best friend, automatically silencing him.

 

“Yes, I didn’t have a video prepared for Monday, be-“

 

“What? But you _always_ have a video prepared!”

 

Connor ignores him and continues, “ _because_ , I haven’t had a single idea this entire week. I kept procrastinating to the point of a complete breakdown. I was so frustrated over the fact that I could not _think_. It drove me totally nuts. I got to thinking I could just get so wasted that a dumb, completely uncreative idea would come to mind but I ended up getting even more overwhelmed,” he looked down and shook his head, “when I downed half of a can of _Blue Moon_ I realized it wouldn’t be a real Connor Franta video if I didn’t put any creativity into it.

 

"That’s when I tried to make my mind relax. And how?” he paused, chuckling quietly to himself, “I ate some leftover Indian food I found at the back of my fridge and downed three cans of soda. After a few minutes my stomach came to the conclusion that the last time I ate take-out was _weeks ago,_ I mean, _so long_ ago, Troye, I was mortified.” 

 

 

Connor wiped the side of his mouth with his sleeve. “I have never, ever puked that much in my entire life.”

 

“Never?”

 

“Never, _ever_.”

 

“Maybe never, ever, will be our always.”

 

This time both of them laughed out loud, clutching at each other’s arms for balance as tears formed at the corners of their eyes. They poked at each other’s ribs, resulting in a serious tickle battle to which no one triumphed. 

 

The two of them ended up in a heaving mess back onto the tiles, attempting to take a shot at nudging the other to no avail.

 

“Connor?”

 

“Troye?’

 

Troye hesitated before responding. “How about we film a video? Um, together?”

 

“ _We?_ ” Connor tilted his head upward so he can visibly look at Troye.

 

Troye bit his lip in embarrassment. “Um, yeah. I mean, we haven’t collaborated even though, you’re, um…” he trailed off

 

“What? My best friend?”

 

Connor noticed the red in his cheeks.

 

“Troye.”

 

The younger refused to look at him.

 

“Why are you blushing? Of course I’ll do a video with you.”

 

Troye’s eyes shot up in disbelief. “Seriously?”

 

Connor nodded. “What should we do? The best friend tag?”

 

“Mhm!” Troye hummed excitedly. He didn’t exactly know why he was so ecstatic, maybe it was because their fans didn’t know exactly how he and Connor acted alone and around each other and he was thrilled to finally be able to show them.

 

While Connor handled the cameras and studio lights, Troye browsed the Internet for the questions — well, sort of. He mostly played obnoxiously loud Kanyé songs.

 

“You ready?” Connor shouted over the noise.

 

Troye grinned goofily and shot the American a thumbs up.

 

Connor hit the record button and positioned himself against Troye. He inhaled steadily and waved to the camera.

 

“Hey! What’s up you guys it’s Connor-“

 

“-And Troye!” the Australian quipped.

 

“And this video is going to be _very_ special because I’m here with my best friend — the one and only, Troye Sivan!”

 

“I already said that part,” Troye mumbled under his breath.

 

A garden of red creeped across the older boy’s cheeks but continued to talk.

 

“We are going to be doing the best friend tag, so let’s just jump right into it, I guess,” Connor yawned.

 

Troye peeked at the MacBook sitting atop the ottoman. “Question num-“ -yawn- “-ber one. How and when did you meet?”

 

“Playlist Live 2013,” Connor looked at Troye, “just kind of bumped into each other, I guess.”

 

The two looked at each other for a few moments, remembering the exact event. It felt nice to reminisce over these affairs together.

 

 

Connor cleared his throat and began reading out the next question.

 

“What is your favorite memory together?”

 

Troye hummed in response. “Oh, I know this one.”

 

Connor cocked his head towards the Australian in confusion. Troye gives him a knowing look and pretty soon a bright smile flickers across Connor’s face and electrifies his entire body.

 

“Oh! Of course — oh my God, you guys,” he covers his mouth with a balled fist.

 

Connor began telling the tale of, in summary, how he managed to spill an entire bottle of chardonnay on himself, running to clean it up, _slipping_ while trying to run and clean it up, and — being blinded by white wine in his eyes — elbows Troye straight in the face.

 

“Oh, it was magical,” Troye snickered, “you, without hesitation, literally carriedme over to the nearest medical clinic to get me checked. Turns out, _you_ were the one with the broken nose and pieces of wine glass stuck in your face. We ended up spending the night watching Parks and Rec for hours with even more bottles of chardonnay and you looking like the second coming of Voldemort.”

 

“It was one of the best nights I’d ever had,” Connor spoke in a modulated, quiet tone. This time they don’t laugh it off or nudge one another, they only relax their excited bones and form smiles on their faces.

 

Troye runs a hand through his curls and pulls the laptop towards him. “If you could go any place on earth together, where would it be and why?”

 

Connor points to the camera, chuckling, “I think they already know this question.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Connor shrugs. “Well, we’re always together, no matter what location we’re in. We like being around each other, I think? I know I do.”

 

Troye simply nods and mumbles an incoherent phrase. “Who takes longer to get ready in the morning?”

 

Connor, stifling a laugh, points a finger to Troye. Meanwhile the guilty boy remains silent and puckers his lips.

 

“Whenever he’s in LA he’ll take _so_ long in my bathroom,” Connor snorts, “I think its because he’s too busy stealing all of my clothes-“

 

“ _Not_ true!” Troye shrieks, “I still wear some of my clothes.”

 

Connor mouths the word _some,_ and still Troye manages to hear. He slaps Connor lightly on the shoulder, laughing.

 

“We’re going through this so slow,” Connor smiles, “Let’s quicken this up…?”

 

Troye nods, not quite processing the information out of the boy’s mouth.   He bites his lip unknowingly, focusing on Connor’s facial features; from his eyes, cheeks, lips. Connor notices and feels a red glow burning his face.

 

Troye, now lucid of his behavior, tries to brush it off as him dozing off. He innocently plays with his fingers and Connor grins like mad.

 

“Um, next question,” Troye blushed, “describe each other in one word.”

 

Connor spoke instantly. “Passionate, definitely,” a redness formed on his cheeks at his sudden words, “he’s, uh, really passionate about music and whenever he talks about it he just lights up. At the mention of a song or lyric everything will just be background for him. He’s electrified; it’s a drug that pumps through his veins and it’s a bitch to get rid of. But I love it.”

 

Troye fumbles with the hem of his shirt, not taking the chance of making eye contact with the boy next to him.

 

Connor smiles timidly, cowering slightly, trying to hide the overwhelming color flooding his face. “What about your answer?”

 

Troye sucks on the bottom of his lip before responding. “There’s so many words I could use to describe you,” he speaks in a sotto voce, so softly only Connor can hear him, “I could say creative. I could say enthusiastic. I could say buoyant. I could say you’re my everything, but even everything isn’t enough. I’m at a loss for words whenever it comes to you, Connor.”

 

When Troye finishes, constellations of warm crimson tickle the apples of his cheeks. A silence permeates throughout room, the only sound is a cold draft exhaling through the air conditioner.

 

Pink, violet, red, blue — such colors shutter across Connor’s face before it finally settles to a ghostly white.

 

Troye realizes the emotion spread across his friend’s face and immediately guilt, shame, sadness, so many gloomy emotions tie a protective ribbon around his chest. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Troye speaks below a whisper, “I don’t know came over me, I didn’t mean to say all of that out loud.”

 

He expects Connor to leave the room or at least give some sort of unsatisfied huff; instead, a warmth moves against his upturned hand. Troye whips his head around to find Connor’s still shaken eyes staring right into his own.

 

A swallow, a few intakes of breath, and one long sigh before Connor finally speaks.

 

“You didn’t mean to say it out loud,” he murmurs, “does that mean it was in your thoughts before you said it?”

 

Troye squeezes his eyes so tight tears form at the corners. He stifles a whimper, a sob replaces it and rips all the way through him. This is how it always starts; something little accidentally escapes and all of a sudden an avalanche of emotions and sentences you never meant to say come tumbling down.

 

Five shaking fingers hover over one sweaty palm.

 

“Because I know mine were, and I still have so much left to say about you.”

 

Complete, painful silence floods over the room. Various bittersweet scenarios implant into their minds.

 

Everything feels frozen, paralyzed, until one of them is brave enough to make a move.

 

Connor intertwines his hand with Troye’s. Soon after, heavy arms wrap around each other’s chest. Troye buries his head deep into the older boy’s shoulder, fists tightening around Connor’s shirt. Connor strokes Troye’s hair and kisses his temple every few seconds. The two cry silent, happy tears and it feels like tense, too-tight ribbons have finally unraveled and burst into the atmosphere. The air somehow changes into something sweeter, something more loving.

 

All they can feel is affection spreading itself throughout their bones, their bodies, their beings, and they can’t help but combine that fondness into an emotion much stronger; love.

 

They held each other, kissed a few times, until the morning light shone through the sheer curtains. They didn’t realize it, they weren’t exactly focused on anything except each other.

 

Eventually exhaust broke through both of them and they ended up falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms.

 

.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ :。

 

In the bright morning when Connor woke up, it was still too early to start the day. He stay huddled into his best friend and now lover, reminiscing over the night that happened just a few hours ago. He grinned lazily at the sight of troye enveloped in his arms, holding Connor's fingers right next to his lips. Quiet snores escaped through his mouth every few seconds.

 

"Troye," Connor hummed, letting the new flavor of his name settle sweetly on his taste buds. Troye's eyelashes fluttered faintly at the voice and his bottom lip trembled. Connor pecked a kiss in the very middle of his forehead and just like Sleeping Beauty, the younger boy's eyes opened slowly.

 

The first sight he saw were two muted green irises staring back at him. A smile crept across both of their faces once they found eye contact.

 

"We haven't even made it official yet and I still can't keep my eyes off of you," Connor whispered.

 

"Then let's make  _this_ official," Troye gestured to their amalgamated form, "let  _us_ be a thing."

 

"Mm, I think we've always been a thing," Connor murmured.

 

"Stop calling it a  _thing_ ," Troye laughed lightly, "I've loved you ever since I laid eyes on you and what I feel about you shouldn't be just an object."

 

Connor smiled warmly. "We're not a thing, then. We're in love; we're forever."

 

They kissed again, this time it was long, sugary, warm, and loving.

 

"How has it only been a few hours?" said Troye.

 

"It's been a few hours since we said we loved each other," Connor breathed, "It's been years since we've known."

 

Both the older and the younger hum in agreement. They settle down into a comfortable position without having to break off from one another. Troye straddles Connor's waist and wraps his arms around his neck. Connor cups and strokes Troye's cheek with both hands and kisses all over his face, neck, arms -- everywhere.

 

"I've loved you always, Connor"

 

"I've loved you always, too, Troye."


End file.
